


Close and Stolen Moments

by selynne



Category: The Secret of the Unicorn Queen - Josepha Sherman
Genre: F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff and Humor, Love, Marriage, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, Relationship(s), Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-21
Updated: 2006-06-21
Packaged: 2019-03-08 01:08:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13447302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selynne/pseuds/selynne
Summary: This was written years ago and posted to the SUQ Community on Livejournal. It was a friend's birthday and I offered to write her a gift. This is the prompt she gave me: "How about Sheila and Darian dancing at Illyria and Laric's wedding. And maybe a little walk with smoochies afterward."This is set sometime *after* the final book in the series, at some point after Sheila's (assumed) return. Because we all wanted her to get back there eventually, right?





	Close and Stolen Moments

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Firephly](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Firephly).



She decided that the torches looked like fireflies, from so far away. A long line of bobbing orange fireflies, winding their way slowly down the wide paved road outside the palace, blinking in and out of existence as they passed between buildings and towers made invisible in the darkness.   
  
The bright head of this flickering march - led by Illyria and Laric, now officially husband and wife, King and Queen of Campora - had already vanished into the city, leading their jubilant followers on a joyous procession of celebration that would probably last half the night. Sheila couldn't hear the singing anymore, but had no doubt that it continued.   
  
She leaned forward, arms folded on the smooth stone balustrade, and gratefully stepped out of her shoes. It had been a long night, and although high heels didn't exist in this world - a fact for which she was  _very_  grateful - the rather unforgiving leather and woven sandals she'd been wearing instead weren't all that comfortable, either.   
  
Breathing a sigh of relief, she flexed her bare toes against the cool, polished tile of the terrace. A sudden breeze came up, blissfully cool against her slightly sweaty skin, and brought with it the barest scent of the ocean, of the flowers blooming in the palace gardens below. She drew in a lung-full of this sweetly scented air and closed her eyes against the night, luxuriating in this brief, stolen moment of peace.   
  
Not that she hadn't been enjoying herself all this time, but it was nice to be outside, away from the noise and bustle of the celebration. It seemed to her that as many people had stayed behind in the palace as had opted to join the procession, and even now she could hear the musicians tuning up for yet another round of dancing, voices raised in laughter and appreciation as the party went on behind her. She smiled a little when the clapping started, recognizing the tempo immediately even as her poor feet throbbed with the memory.   
  
"Don't tell me you've given up already."  
  
Her smile widened at the sound of that voice, and those words. She didn't turn around, though, or even open her eyes. Instead she focused once more on the breeze, on the feel of her skin tingling as he drew nearer.   
  
"Don't ask me to dance again," she warned, only half-joking. "I am not putting those shoes back on."   
  
Darian came up alongside her and leaned against the wall, their shoulders brushing companionably as he looked out over the city. "Well, I wouldn't recommend dancing barefoot," he quipped, lightly.   
  
Sheila opened her eyes again, leveling Illyria's brother with a mock glare over one shoulder.   
  
"What?" The innocence on his handsome face was carefully construed, highlighted more by moonlight than the flickering candles that hung on either side of the sloping wall behind them. "I didn't pick out your shoes."  
  
"No." She turned to face him more fully, trying to look properly aggrieved. "But you  _are_  the one who kept stepping on them."  
  
Darian grinned, teeth flashing white in the darkness. "One time," he reminded her, unruffled. "That was  _one_  time. And it wasn't even my fault." Then he reached forward, carefully plucking at something located somewhere in the vicinity of her left ear. After a moment of careful untangling, he held it up for her to see.   
  
A tiny white flower.   
  
Sighing, Sheila resisted the urge to mess with her hair again. Sometime in the middle of the wedding feast - maybe during the opening dance, or after he'd kissed her in the Great Hall, in front of everyone - her hair had begun to rebel, the intricate braids and loops it had been wound in for the ceremony slowly unraveling and spilling down past her shoulders, releasing tiny white and lavender flowers that brushed against her neck and trailed to the floor in her wake. Most had fallen away hours ago, but every now and again one would resurface, much to Darian's amusement, and cling stubbornly to the long strands of her hair.   
  
Due to the distinct lack of real mirrors in this world - even in a place so richly appointed as the Royal Palace - Sheila could only guess as to how badly her artfully-arranged appearance must have suffered over the day-long course of the celebration. At least her  _tunic_  had survived unscathed, and (even more importantly) it was actually  _comfortable_ , cut from unbelievably soft lavender fabric and richly embroidered at the hem and neckline. It was nothing she'd ever be able to wear again, at least not in everyday life, but for this night, and this place, it was perfect. She certainly  _felt_  beautiful in it, and when Darian looked at her in the way he was looking at her now - the way he'd been looking at her all night, even when they'd been separated by pomp and ceremony and crowds of noisy people - she could almost believe that she was.   
  
"So," he edged nearer, his voice lowering as they drew together, closer than any dance had allowed. They were finally alone, out here on the terrace, and Sheila was incredibly grateful for it. She and Darian had been watching each other throughout the evening, starting with the ceremony and continuing on through the feasting. Even during the endless dancing they'd hardly been able to take their eyes off each other. And that kiss, in the Great Hall ... she hadn't been expecting it, and now, having him so near again - it sent a giddy thrill straight through her.   
  
"How is it done, then, where you come from?"  
  
Sheila blinked, distracted by the gentle sensation of his fingers on her skin. She had no idea what he was talking about.  
  
"You said during dinner that weddings are different on your world..." Darian's fingertips lingered against the side of her neck, the curve of her shoulder, all under the pretext of flower-hunting. "Don't your people believe in dancing?"  
  
She laughed, looking up at him in the moonlit darkness. "Of course they do," she said. "They dance a lot, actually. Especially at weddings. Just ... differently, I guess."  
  
"So different that your feet don't ache?" That familiar spark of humor was back in his eyes, but there was something else there too, something telling her that he really  _did_  feel rather bad about crushing her toes, even if it  _was_  just the one time, hours ago. Seeing this, Sheila couldn't help but smile.   
  
It really  _hadn't_  been his fault, she knew, but the result of a crowded room with too many other dancers. No simple after-dinner twirl around a ballroom, this had been more of an elaborate square dance (although sometimes it was circular, too) with everyone holding hands and moving in quick shifting patterns across the wide tiled floor, musicians pounding out a beat with flutes and drums and other instruments while spectators on either side of the room clapped and sang along. It had taken her a few tries to master the steps, however, and she knew that any problems she might have had were just as likely her own fault as they were anyone she had danced with.   
  
Still smiling, Sheila reached down for his other hand. "No," she assured him, squeezing his fingers. "I think that sore feet are a part of most weddings. The good ones, anyway. I just meant that we have different  _kinds_  of dances, slower ones, especially for the bride and groom. The married couple," she elaborated, not sure that the word 'groom' would translate correctly. "Usually the first dance is just the two of them, together, and it's...slower. And closer."  
  
"Closer?"  
  
"Mmm hmm." She was getting distracted again, the way he was touching her. "It's supposed to be . . . romantic. Their first dance together as husband and wife."   
  
Darian nodded and they stood in silence for a time, listening to the music as it drifted out from the hall behind them. Sheila felt a sudden urge to sway with him there, alone on that candlelit terrace in the darkness. To wrap her arms around his shoulders and never let go.  
  
"Show me," he murmured, startling her. He was so close now that she could feel his breath, warm and wine-sweet against her cheek, and she wondered dazedly if he'd suddenly acquired the ability to read minds.   
  
"Show you?"   
  
He smiled, raising their joined hands to his lips. Orange light spilled out from the carved archway behind them and cast a warm glow across his features. "Show me how they dance, where you come from. So I won't keep stepping on your feet."  
  
Sheila flushed a little, gripping his hand in her own as he kissed the backs of her fingers. She knew that Darian had little interest in actual dancing, other than what he'd already learned, and she couldn't say she'd ever had a blinding fascination with the subject herself, to be honest. Her own, rather limited knowledge was based mostly on a few formal dances she'd gone to in high school, and a wedding or two back home. Still, they both knew it wasn't scholarly interest that made him ask for a lesson.  
  
Taking a deep breath, Sheila lowered their joined hands a bit, but didn't let go. Hoping she didn't look as silly as she suddenly felt - a parade of awkward high school moments running rampant through her mind - she placed his other hand on her hip and stepped closer, so close that their bodies nearly touched. Resting her left hand against the solid strength of his shoulder, she looked up again, oddly breathless, as all thoughts of silliness fled at the expression she saw on his face.  
  
"This is it?" he asked, clearing his throat.  
  
Sheila nodded and took a tiny step closer, unable to stop herself. Instinctively his right hand slid further around her hip until his fingers were splayed slightly against her back, pulling her in until their bodies did at last come together. They were chest to chest now, leg to leg, and she could feel his heart pounding against her breast, her own leaping up to meet it.  
  
"There are steps..." she murmured, although for the life of her she could no longer imagine why further movement was even necessary.   
  
Darian leaned forward very slightly, until his lips brushed her temple. "Show me," he said again, lingering there.   
  
Sheila didn't move for a moment, loathe to break contact with him, but after a second or two she forced herself to straighten and pull away a bit. Still feeling rather unsuited to the role of teacher, she quickly explained the basic steps, more than a little distracted simply by the virtue of his presence. Once they actually began to dance, however, a good deal of that tension was released when he stepped on her foot.   
  
Again.  
  
Sheila tried to squelch her laughter, but it was too late. Darian looked down at her, more than a little annoyed, but she sensed that his annoyance was mostly aimed at himself. And she couldn't help but wonder if maybe he was finding  _her_  just as distracting as she was finding him.   
  
"Let's try that again," he said, rather darkly.   
  
So they did, and this time around, with a sort of fierce concentration that was only half-pretended, Darian managed  _not_  to step on her feet again. In fact, after only a minute or two he had the steps down almost perfectly, and with sudden grace they found themselves moving easily across the elaborately tiled floor.   
  
At first they focused on the dance itself, determined to get it right, but after a few turns around that tiny space they found themselves lulled into a pattern, drifting ever closer, their movements becoming less and less defined as they simply enjoyed the moment. Yet another round of music erupted behind them, voices raised in cheerful merriment as the drums began to beat once more. Blessings and good wishes were shouted (and seconded) in honor of the new King and Queen, and Sheila and Darian smiled at each other in the dark. Then, pulling their clasped hands in against his chest, he kissed her again. It was a far sweeter, deeper kiss than the one he'd stolen hours earlier.   
  
"Do you want to go back?" he asked, in a low voice, when at last they broke apart.   
  
Sheila sighed softly and looked out across the parapet, into the beauty of the night. The torches were still distantly visible off in the distance, glowing like warm little stars of their own. She shook her head, letting her temple come down to rest against Darian's shoulder, their bodies still moving gently. "No." She took a deep, freeing breath, feeling his hand slide up her back. Abandoning the dance altogether, she slid her arms around his neck and closed her eyes, fitting her head beneath his chin as he embraced her.   
  
"No, I think I'm good exactly where I am."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks of an endless variety to torra for 1) kick-ass beta, and 2) helping me END this sucker already. There are several lines/ideas in this fic that would not be there without her input, so in no way can I claim all the credit for this thing.


End file.
